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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863645">Tooth for a Tooth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry'>ActualHurry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Immortal Severance Ending (Sekiro), M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:42:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While Ashina rebuilds, Wolf and Genichiro must reshape their ambitions.</p><p>(Sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609871/chapters/44122207">Eye for an Eye</a>.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Genichiro Ashina/Sekiro | Wolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Long time no Sekiro! Don't think I forgot about my promise to write more, but, um, maybe I spent almost a year mulling over how exactly to do it justice, since I felt like I tied it up fairly fantastically (not as in "well", but as in "fantastical"). I had to simmer, okay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Halfway up Mt. Kongo, not quite at Senpou Temple, there is an area to rest — homes, emptied and barren. If anyone had ever stayed in these places, it was before the time that the monks decided to recreate immortality for themselves. Many of these buildings were neglected and forgotten in the pursuit of this goal, left to ruin in the mountain’s climate. Leaf mold and forest brush line the entryways of most of these homes, the stale smell of abandonment sitting heavy.</p><p>One of these homes, however, has been relatively well cared for; this, Wolf understands, is the Divine Child’s doing, though whether it was by her own hand or another who held sympathy for her, he doesn’t know. It matters little, in the end.</p><p>This single building has become a haven. When Kuro had requested to see the state of the mountain and its temple, they’d stayed here at the Divine Child's recommendation and slept overnight in the futons. Wolf, knowing these winding trails and difficult paths better than most, had been a silent guide as Kuro surveyed the damage the monks had left behind. The mountain had been holy once, the monks wholly devoted. Now, husks of centipedes and crickets still litter the grounds, empty corpses scattered behind trees and shoved in craggy hideaways: all proof of a shift in their faith.</p><p>But that trip had been weeks ago. Now, Wolf is here only because Kuro demanded it of him. It has been two nights since he arrived here with Kuro’s order of <em>rest, and only rest, </em>and as he wakes up this morning, Wolf thinks he may be teetering on the edge of an aimless agitation unknown to him until now. Certainly, he’s explored. Certainly, he’s investigated. But he is a dog without a leash.</p><p>There’s a cool wash of air across his face, the breeze wet. The sound of rain is soft as if a downpour has either just ended, or will has yet to begin. Wolf opens his eyes to see the ceiling of this borrowed home, turns his head to see a half-open screen. Visible through trees with few leaves, clouds comfortably blanket the sky.</p><p>In Ashina Castle, Kuro will surely have woken much earlier, and is likely already in the midst of discussing all manner of business with merchants and tradesmen from across Ashina. In these last weeks, time has passed faster than anyone expected. Early on, it was repeated that Ashina could not be rebuilt without great determination and care. Now, they have proof of it.</p><p>Emma and the Divine Child may be at Kuro’s side at least, advising him. Meanwhile, Genichiro… </p><p>Wolf rolls over finally, coming face to face with Genichiro taking up the space beside him, his long limbs barely contained by the length of the futon.</p><p>Genichiro blinks slowly, fixing him with a patient, expectant look. His hair is undone, a mess from sleep and carelessness borne of a wild night.</p><p>“You’ve been outside already,” Wolf notes. He can smell the soil and dampness on Genichiro, if the open screen does not already give him away.</p><p>“Yes,” Genichiro says, reaching up to brush his knuckle to Wolf’s jaw. There’s a strange concern lacing the rest of his words: “You slept heavily.” </p><p>After the evening they’d shared and Wolf's general lack of true rest, this shouldn't be a surprise. Genichiro had arrived suddenly the night before, with no warning and no word; Wolf doesn’t remember when they had finally grown tired of each other and fallen asleep, only that the moon had been well on its way down the sky, and the clouds now spilling across the land had barely crept across the horizon then.</p><p>Intending to dress with his usual efficiency, Wolf slides out from the blanket. Genichiro’s eyes do not leave him, and in fact Wolf can feel that piqued regard trailing across his shoulders, down his back — Genichiro’s gaze drifts lower still, just as Wolf secures his hakama in place. Despite the itch of Genichiro’s attention on him, Genichiro does not beg for scraps, and Wolf does not let him see his careful, familiar pleasure at it as he turns his face away.</p><p>“Lord Kuro sent you away as well?” Wolf asks. He hadn’t asked last night; now is as good a time as any.</p><p>“I came of my own volition.” </p><p>Wolf’s hands still for one caught moment. “Is Lord Kuro—”</p><p>“He is well,” Genichiro interrupts; Wolf looks and finds Genichiro’s face twisted in a scowl. Wolf is halfway to pulling his haori over his shoulders, waiting for some explanation, when Genichiro finally pushes off of the futon to catch Wolf’s right wrist.</p><p>A beat passes. Wolf watches Genichiro work through whatever it is he must to speak again.</p><p>“And I am here,” Genichiro eventually says, “because I want to be here, Sekiro.” </p><p>The meaning of it settles over Wolf as if he’s been drenched and now dripping with the concept. He stares at Genichiro, motionless enough that when his haori slides off of his shoulder and bares him once more to the damp air, he can’t find a reason to fix it.</p><p>It makes little sense. Genichiro has for the past many weeks been working alongside Kuro and Emma to reinstate travel and trade routes, to ensure safety as Ashina’s meager forces clean up the last few invaders. Their borders have been conflicted, their land burned and razed, and much of the work lately has simply been ensuring some measure of security for those still living within Ashina’s walls. They have seen very little of each other during this time.</p><p>And so to imagine Genichiro here, with him, tucked away, and not there, continuing to streamline all these efforts—</p><p>“I see,” Wolf says, even though he does <em>not</em> see, not at all. </p><p>Genichiro’s eyes fall half-shut in exasperation, an expression that Wolf knows well by now, and then Wolf is being pulled back into the futon. He catches himself on a knee, his sheared arm unable to do the job for him, and Genichiro’s free hand slides beneath Wolf’s haori to push it off of his shoulders entirely. </p><p>“It was my mistake to assume you would be less frustrating as an ally than an enemy,” Genichiro mutters, tugging Wolf over him. </p><p>Wolf exhales a small breath, but he indulges Genichiro’s command, settling on top of him with his legs splayed on either side of his lap, the haori discarded, forgotten. He feels Genichiro study him in the same way he has when they’re readying their swords — those sharp eyes, no longer tinged red, flit to the curve of Wolf’s shoulder, the end of his elbow, the open parting of his thighs. </p><p>But Wolf is not braced for a strike. He is waiting for something very different. And then it comes: the roaming of Genichiro’s hands, a journey from Wolf’s knees on upward. His large palms skate over the wide, muscled range of Wolf’s clothed thighs, farther towards the angle of his hips, until either of his thumbs are pressed into the belt-line of Wolf’s waist, just above the hakama.</p><p>Genichiro had taken Wolf by surprise last night. Their impromptu sparring had quickly gone from true fighting to an elated dance, charged by knowing and being known, and when Wolf finally disarmed Genichiro and took him to the dirt, it had become something only tangentially different and yet somehow more heated, skin on skin and little more than instinct.</p><p>Today, it seems it will be slower than that. Their blades rest across the room, out of reach. Genichiro’s bow is even farther away than that.</p><p>Wolf imagines it —</p><p>Another time, another place, another circumstance, and he would lunge for his sword, he would plunge it through the rotted, sunken lake of Genichiro’s chest. Wolf would grip him with his knees to hold him still. His metal would split Genichiro’s flesh like warm meat and spill his blood like a thick, stagnant river across the landscape of his body. It would be wood beneath them, not the soft cushion they have now.</p><p>It would have been hard-fought. Genichiro would take more than a single impalement; Wolf would have to do it again and again, until the power of Genichiro’s own borrowed blessing ran dry. He would think, <em>this is how it must be, </em>all while he cracks Genichiro’s ribs and flays him open. Again, again, again. </p><p>He would have done it. He <em>did </em>do it.</p><p>Down the phantom of his arm, he can almost feel Genichiro’s heartbeat in the palm of his hand.</p><p>Always, Wolf thinks of these things, and though he wastes none of his time considering it, Genichiro must think of these things, too. Still, under him, Genichiro’s tension melts like snow. Wolf leans down and kisses him, then Genichiro is arching upward, one of his hands curling behind Wolf’s nape to keep him there. Wolf parts his lips for that searching tongue that licks between his teeth, and then they both are lost to the same need, this liquid heat that pools between their bodies and begs to be touched. In moments such as these, Genichiro seems almost demure, or at the very least, modest. He is in no way shy about his body — but he is shy about the intimacy of it, his eyes lidded or lips drawn in a strange expression of curious awareness.</p><p>Wolf drags his teeth against Genichiro’s pulse point, the brush of his lips triggering a stuttered breath and a tighter grip from the other man. Genichiro undoes the hakama again, and then it is only the cloth of the sheet between them, the sound of rain now louder outside. Wolf is specific with his desires, and so he hones the want into particular shapes: his hand against the hollow of Genichiro’s throat, his thumb resting there to bid him to be still, his lips trailing down to Genichiro’s chest, following the dark, winding streaks left by lightning and devotion.</p><p>Wolf realizes that he has missed this and he pauses as if the very thought has run him through. Genichiro props himself up onto an elbow, noticing the hesitation.</p><p>“Are you sore?” Wolf asks then, words coming out lush against the curved muscle of Genichiro’s stomach.</p><p>Genichiro’s answering noise is dismayed, offended at the very question. “Truly,” he says, somehow prim, “you have done much worse to me than leave me sore.” </p><p>Wolf’s gaze flicks up to meet Genichiro’s. Genichiro’s black-tipped fingers dig into Wolf’s hair, tugging little stars of pain at his scalp. Wolf’s breath comes shorter at the feeling and beneath his mouth, Genichiro twitches.</p><p>“Continue,” Genichiro tells him quietly, so Wolf does.</p><p>The oil is still tucked next to the futon where they left it the night before; neither of them ration the amount as Genichiro pours some onto Wolf’s fingers for him, leaving him slick down to the knuckles. Wolf continues his journey down Genichiro’s body, long and limber as it is. He finds a bite he’d left on Genichiro’s skin and covers it with a kiss, not out of care, but admiring it. In a similar light, his eyes travel up once more to study the many scars painting Genichiro’s skin, and he can pick out the exact ones that are his doing.</p><p>That scar from shoulder to throat nearly outdoes all but the marks left by storms, that angry, ragged edge of torn flesh now joined once more with the rest of Genichiro’s body. It is a testament to his dedication, as much as anything else embossed upon him. </p><p>Wolf settles between Genichiro’s legs as Genichiro kicks the sheets down, and he finds him unsurprisingly hard and already wanting. Wolf's hand goes low, his oil-wet fingers opening him easily, relaxing that ring of muscle with deliberate, practiced motions. Wolf knows Genichiro’s body as well as his own, now; he doesn’t have to look upon him to name his scars, nor does he need to feel his warmth to know his presence. He has crossed blades and paths with him too many times to know him any less than he does — intimately. </p><p>Genichiro sighs, head tilted high where he lays back again, hips raising up. His throat is bared, and Wolf thinks of a knife that could slit it. He turns his cheek into the futon slightly; he is not even paying close enough attention to notice Wolf's intent on his vulnerability, so focused on Wolf’s thrusting fingers inside of him, the curl of his digits, the touch of Wolf’s lips pressing briefly, gently across his hip.</p><p>Wolf takes the head of him into his mouth and feels Genichiro stiffen as if shocked. His body loosens like a cut bowstring afterwards, coming undone in lovely, relaxed threads. Wolf’s lips stretch around him, the warm weight of his length on his tongue pleasantly real and musky. He moves his head down further, up again, almost an afterthought to the rhythm his fingers have set. Genichiro does not complain. He only arches up under Wolf’s ministrations, his legs bending at the knee, his heels pressing down against the futon for some semblance of control that Wolf does not lend him.</p><p>“Sekiro,” Genichiro breathes, and there is the slightest haughtiness in his voice, a shred of willpower demanding to be taken seriously. </p><p>He may be Ashina’s general, but not here, he isn’t, and he's no longer his lord to obey. Wolf continues, a subtle ache in his wrist taking root from this angle, what is left of his other arm braced against the futon now, keeping himself steady as he mouths down the Genichiro’s cock, saliva trailing sluggishly down his length. He catches the bead of saliva with his tongue and again moves to Genichiro’s tip.</p><p>Genichiro reminds him of the hand he has in his hair by gripping tighter, and Wolf’s low, muffled noise comes along with the tiniest jerk of his own hips against the futon.</p><p>“Take me,” says Genichiro through his gritted teeth.</p><p>Eager to oblige, Wolf lifts his mouth off of him, only for Genichiro to roll them over, right off the side of the futon and down onto the tatami. Wolf’s back hits the floor, and despite his surprise, he remains silent, peering up at Genichiro, who bears a more determined expression now.</p><p>If this is what Genichiro wants, Wolf is not inclined to stop him. “Like this?” he prompts, and drops his hand to Genichiro’s waist to hold him in place as Genichiro situates himself over him. </p><p>“Yes,” says Genichiro. The single word is breathless.</p><p>The light is still dim, but to a shinobi’s eye, it doesn’t matter. Wolf can see the heat spread up Genichiro’s nape to the top of his cheeks as if the sun itself is shining in the room. Genichiro is so much larger than he is, he looms above Wolf, his body wide and tall. The black, shattered scars across Genichiro’s skin stretch, moving with him as he reaches back to slide an oiled palm over Wolf’s length once, twice; Wolf arches, but Genichiro’s weight on his thighs settles him back down.</p><p>And when he slides down onto him, Wolf pressing into his warm, welcome body — Wolf’s breath stutters into his lungs as if he’s forgotten, suddenly, how to pull the air in. Genichiro’s expression shifts like liquid, first furrowed, then lax, and all the points of tension in between melting away. Wolf’s hand slips; his fingers dig into the meat of Genichiro’s thigh, kneading there, squeezing and releasing. Once seated fully on Wolf, Genichiro seems to enjoy his position, if that small, determined quirk to his mouth means anything. </p><p>“You’ve not often had the advantage over me,” Wolf calmly remarks, working to keep the words from wavering.</p><p>“<em>Sekiro</em>,” Genichiro snaps, his voice like dry branches cracking underfoot, but there is some thin thread in his voice that betrays him — he likes this very much, and Wolf has said exactly the right thing to remind him that he is allowing this just as much as Genichiro is enabling it. A balancing act for two; it remains to be seen who will fall first.</p><p>Genichiro moves; their bodies know each other well, but then again, there are precious few ways to better know another’s body than to have cut clean through it on more than one occasion. And still, there are better ways to express that intimate knowledge than through a blade. Though they are never truly more indulgent anytime than in these moments they share together, they’ve both found something of a weak point in themselves. </p><p>The floor is not as forgiving as the futon was, but it is more comfortable than leaf litter at a riverbank, or kneeling in forest mud. Even last night, they had simply made do. These creature comforts are not often handed to them, and it seems Genichiro is pleased to take advantage of the situation, his knees braced on either side of Wolf, supporting him as he sways at first before adjusting the angle, finding what he enjoys best.</p><p>Wolf will not stop him; he likes it all. He bends his legs to press his own heels down, providing leverage, and is gifted in return the flutter of Genichiro’s eyes closing, the slack of his jaw as he revels in the pleasure of his movements. </p><p>The damp smell from the mountain has all but disappeared from the air by now, the warm scent of skin on skin, of heat and of desire, filling its void. Wolf’s noises are barely-there, his dignity in tatters but kept together by sheer force, though all his emotion is clear on his face. With parted lips and a desperate furrow to his brow, Wolf begins to meet Genichiro halfway in his motions. His hips climb upwards to a crest with each rolling press down from Ashina’s General, the slick join of their bodies causing more noise than their stuttering breaths.</p><p>Wolf’s fingers dig into Genichiro’s thigh until he simply cannot help himself. His fist curls loosely around Genichiro’s hard length, spreading the wet drip of his desire from tip to base. Genichiro arches, his jaw works, his throat moves, and his body bends into it. The sudden, hot tightness surrounding Wolf becomes too much all at once, and he gasps, spilling himself inside of Genichiro. His grip on Genichiro twitches, stops altogether, but it’s not enough to quell the answering burst of bliss from Genichiro that follows. Wolf’s stomach becomes sticky with it.</p><p>They both take their time recovering, Wolf’s eyes shutting briefly as he catches his breath. He almost believes he imagines the fleeting touch of Genichiro’s hand in his hair, his heavy palm moving against his scalp, but no; like a leaf drifting across a lazy stream, he remembers this same sensation from the night before, too. </p><p>When he opens his eyes again, Genichiro’s weight no longer holds him down, and the rain has stopped. Light peeks into the home as if shy, and Wolf’s body has gone sore from his position on the floor. There is no mess on his skin though the scent of it remains, and his lower half has been covered by his hakama. </p><p>Turning his head, he sees Genichiro, dressed properly, sitting outside the screen door, his head tipped back slightly as if enjoying his solitude.</p><p>Wolf allows himself the same solitude for a time, then slowly gets to his feet, dressing himself as well and attaching his prosthetic. He walks first to Genichiro, pauses, and then takes two carefully wrapped onigiri from his nearby pack. He settles down next to Genichiro, placing one onigiri on his lap.</p><p>“A gift,” Wolf states.</p><p>“From you,” Genichiro says, “or from the Divine Child?” </p><p>Wolf wordlessly eats his own onigiri. When he’s done with his bite, he says, “I stayed on the floor.” </p><p>Genichiro glances over, in the middle of peeling open his gift. “I didn’t expect I would get so lucky that you would sleep that heavily twice.”</p><p>“I would not have minded being disturbed.”</p><p>This time, it is Genichiro who says nothing, instead beginning to eat alongside him. Wolf’s elbow brushes Genichiro’s arm as he raises the onigiri to his mouth again. Genichiro doesn’t pull away.</p><p>“Genichiro,” Wolf says, finished with his food. The look that Genichiro sends his way is longer than a glance now. Wolf meets his gaze, steady and sure. “Come with me.”</p><p>It is not often Wolf makes requests, and that is surely why Genichiro seems so taken aback at first, onigiri hovering in his hands, but nowhere near his lips. “Where?”</p><p>Wolf turns his face to nod at the mountain, only steps away from them. </p><p>“For rest?” Genichiro replies dryly, reminding him: <em>What has your Kuro told you to do?</em></p><p>Wolf asks, “You are here because you want to be here?” </p><p>Genichiro pauses, sensing the wolf’s teeth. “…Yes.” </p><p>“You have been outside once already this morning.” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“But you are here for me?” When Genichiro only flattens his mouth into a frown, Wolf presses: “We are not that sentimental.”</p><p>And yet, they are. But not in such a way that Wolf alone could pull Genichiro from his duty. Some things are more important than this bond of theirs. Wolf knows that as well as Genichiro does; neither is offended, and both understand.  </p><p>Genichiro stays silent for several rounds of birdsong, and then he exhales slowly through his nose. “Who taught you to speak in circles? Irritating...” </p><p>Wolf picks at grains of rice left behind, eating them from his fingers.</p><p>“You are a bruise that doesn’t heal,” Genichiro says, obviously gloomy, but he still makes no move to put space between them. “I am here for the centipedes.” </p><p>Ah.</p><p>“I see,” Wolf says, and now, <em>now</em>, he truly does.</p><p>“Not for their rotten immortality,” Genichiro makes sure to say. Wolf believes him, but he says nothing still, waiting for Genichiro to explain himself. And with a shake of his head, Genichiro stands, gesturing at Wolf. “You wanted me to come with you, didn’t you? Then let’s go. I can speak on the way.” </p><p>As Genichiro retrieves his bow and his sword, Wolf finishes his onigiri for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some notes:</p><p>- I do not know how quickly I'll update this. As of right now, I have an entire outline, but I can't promise weekly updates yet because the outline is all I have outside of this chapter. Once I have a more solid idea of where I'm going with this, I'll make sure to inform everyone. In the meantime, wish me luck as I get dragged along for the ride.<br/>- This will not be as plot-driven as E4E; this is very much an exploration of two characters left really purposeless.<br/>- If this doesn't end up just being a smut montage of them banging in various places around Mt. Kongo, I'll be surprised. My vision is "remote mountain getaway" involving like, I dunno, fucking in some leaf mold or something</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Not as plot-driven," I said, "just an exploration of characters," I said... I swear I just wanted a series of smut chapters but did you know Genichiro/Wolf is actually such a difficult ship to work with in peacetime?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, Wolf still dreams of that night.</p><p>Wolf had opened his eyes to see the moon overhead illuminating each long stem of grass. His first breath had been sticky with blood, his second breath quick with sudden understanding. Priorities had filtered in like quick, expert cuts of a blade. He had made it to his feet in the next moment, searching —</p><p>And Kuro had been there, staring at him. Wolf had been just in time to see the shock in his wide eyes melt into recognition, into warm relief.</p><p>But there had been a shadow there in his lord’s expression. Wolf had not had to look down to know why; he could see the red-wet black of the Open Gate. The same red had stained the soil. The same red had colored Genichiro’s clothes like a half-finished dye, ugly and dark in the night.</p><p>Wolf had dropped to one knee. His gaze had remained downcast. From this angle, behind Kuro, he’d been able to properly see Genichiro’s fallen form. A silhouette of muddied shadow, incomprehensible in the way he had fallen. A broken body, left behind. A sacrifice.</p><p>An offering, a gift.</p><p>“My shinobi,” Kuro had said, standing over Wolf. Wolf had never heard his voice crack before, not even at the end of their quest in severing immortality; he had heard it crack then.</p><p>When Wolf had parted his lips to speak, he had tasted the blood dripping off of him. He had blinked the scene from his vision, lowered his eyes further still until he saw nothing but the dirt. His lashes had been clumped together. “Yes,” Wolf had whispered, and swallowed the iron.</p><p>Then the gentle touch of Kuro’s hand had come down into Wolf’s hair.</p><p>This is usually what wakes Wolf; the sensation of comfort so odd that it shocks him awake, or perhaps it is the absence of the feeling in an otherwise very real moment that registers as a dream.</p><p>He does not feel indebted to Genichiro. He knows Genichiro does feel indebted to him. They’ve made the ultimate, sweeping motions for each other. From now, there is nothing they can do for each other that means more than what has already been done; similarly, there is nothing that they can do for anyone <em>else </em>that means the same as what they’ve done to each other. From every blow, to every kiss, they can never impress themselves into anyone the way they’ve scored a space for themselves into each other.</p><p>Wolf does not mind this. Emma has told him that he is not one for people, but for a person. Wolf’s <em>person </em>had been only Kuro for so long; to have others stride into his life with similar meanings is as strange as the sun rising from the opposite end of the sky, but as Kuro fondly told him in recent weeks: <em>a wolf must have a pack. </em></p><p>The Divine Child had laughed at this. Kuro had hidden his own amusement behind his hand, the curve of his smile peeking out from his palm. Wolf had ducked his head and maintained his straightforward expression.</p><p>But there was a grain of truth in it, anyway.</p><hr/><p>At Kuro’s order, Wolf had arrived in the mountains two nights ago. </p><p>“You know already where you can stay,” the Divine Child had reminded him before he left. Her smile had been soft and pleased, and behind her, Emma had looked just as relieved at the concept of Wolf resting instead of hovering at Kuro’s shoulder through conversations of revitalizing trade routes.</p><p>“I would be of more use here,” Wolf had said, which everyone, altogether, thought was definitely not true, though Kuro had shot him a gentle look of pride anyway.</p><p>Ultimately, Wolf had still been told to go. It had not stung, and it still does not; he has known forever that once the remnants of the Ministry were taken care of, his particular talents were no longer required. The most he’s been able to provide as of late has been recon on the state of certain paths, updates on how roads look, information on different areas. Nothing like the detailed notes kept by Genichiro’s men, or the strategizing of guards and merchants.</p><p>Now, Genichiro says to him exactly what Wolf does not want to hear spoken aloud: “Lord Kuro has no need of you at the moment.” </p><p>Wolf’s gaze snaps onto him like he’s been hooked to a line, yet Genichiro only meets his eyes with a blank shake of his head. </p><p>“Ashina has been secured,” Genichiro goes on, rolling his attention forward to the path they walk. It is littered with leaves and branches, brush having grown wild in the neglect. They’ve taken this road before, though they ended up veering off into a shortcut the last time; Wolf has no intention of swinging them into corpses during this journey up this mountain. “It is in no small part due to your assistance, but you are aware of that.” </p><p>Yes, he is. Genichiro does not thank him. Wolf does not expect him to.</p><p>“As Lord Kuro’s shinobi, you cannot expect that he’s completely out of danger,” Genichiro continues. Wolf wanders a little closer to him to avoid the spindly, reaching branches of a small, fallen tree. It barely had the chance to become more than shrubbery, but it has already cracked through at the base of its trunk that is thinner around than Wolf’s wrist. A shame. “But you must trust that he will come to no harm under my watch.” </p><p>Most of Ashina’s people were not informants. Some were. Early on, it was Wolf’s duty to assist in seeking out the ones who ran when the heart of the Ministry was tipped over and poured out. </p><p>This close, Wolf could reach out and grasp Genichiro by the arm. He could pull him, take the both of them over the cliffside right next to them. It’s been a long time now since fire has crackled behind his eyes, but he still thinks of blood on occasion. He can’t help it, the instinct buried deep within his nature. He is a blade, once sharpened to a critical point, now sheathed. But his edge hasn’t become dull with disuse yet.</p><p>And Kuro still lives. Wolf cannot let his guard down until the end of his own life.</p><p>Genichiro glances towards him, as if he can feel the very point of Wolf’s thoughts against his throat. “He is respected here in Ashina and he may hold his post for however long he wishes. He has the right.” </p><p>“Mmn,” Wolf replies, still considering the edge. But with every step, they’re farther from it.</p><p>“However, with immortality severed, he himself holds no true power.” Genichiro sounds as if he has thought this over dozens of times, his tone reasonable, his words objective. “So whatever threats may come against Ashina, whatever forces may attempt to strike against what remains…he will not be the first anyone aims to ruin.” </p><p>He is correct. The real threat against Kuro came from the inside, after all; it came from Genichiro himself, who knew the power he had, who desired it beyond anything else in the name of desperation. Now, with Ashina’s slow rise from the ashes and his own and his own intuition, Wolf knows very well who he would try to kill first.</p><p>The most valuable blood to spill would be, of course, Genichiro’s. </p><p>Wolf glances his way. “…You mean this as comfort.” </p><p>Genichiro doesn’t quite catch himself before he snorts derisively. “If you feel comforted, then it must be.” </p><p>It’s only the facts, presented straightforward and true. Wolf is grateful, not for the first time, at Genichiro’s candid reason. Ashina has a very, very good general at the helm.</p><p>They slow their walk as they head across a bridge, but they don’t stop. Here, it is shaded and cool, and they’re shielded from the light drizzle. The bridge is still broken where Wolf fought off the large, armored man who’d been here before. He feels nothing as he stares at the shards of wood that lead down, down into nowhere. No regret. No curiosity.</p><p>Halfway down the bridge, Wolf lunges.</p><p>It’s pleasantly easy to swing Genichiro by the sleeve (the sound of threads popping rings too loud in this space) and press him against one of the bridge’s supports. The line of his body is hard but yielding, as if Wolf has done nothing more than request they wait a moment before continuing, and not as if Wolf has just pinned him into a wall. Briefly, his eyes flick to the left and right to the ends of the bridge, as if to ensure Wolf is not doing this because there is something hostile approaching them.</p><p>Wolf feels the tension slowly bleed from Genichiro’s body, but it is replaced with agitation.</p><p>“Yes?” Genichiro prompts, at first unenthused, and then less so once he meets Wolf’s eyes.</p><p>There is a <em>thank you</em> still brimming in Wolf, threatening to overwhelm, as if someone is pouring a cup of tea and he has lost his tongue, unable to tell them to stop. Frustration singes his patience, that tea spilling over, and whatever Genichiro sees on his face must be answer enough. A quick understanding flutters across Genichiro’s expression like butterfly wings, barely-there and gone-again, and he leans down while Wolf rises onto his tip-toes. </p><p>Genichiro kisses with lazy licks as if he’s shucking Wolf open each time, every bit the tiger that’s received a meal. His teeth do nothing more than barely graze Wolf’s lip, the swath of his tongue against Wolf’s sending a languid roll of electricity down Wolf’s spine. Wolf tightens his fist in Genichiro’s sleeve. He feels Genichiro’s free hand slide down his back and rest at the curve of his back. </p><p>It’s more tender than Wolf expects from him, and he nearly draws back because of it. But even as his feet ache at being kept on his toes, Wolf does not move away and relent. He pushes Genichiro back harder still, throws both arms around his neck and <em>bites</em>.</p><p>Genichiro grunts, and fire cascades across Wolf’s skin at the feeling of Genichiro’s thigh sliding against his body, the friction alone more than enough to tempt. They stay this way, exchanging kiss for tongue and bite for nip. </p><p>“You need a shinobi,” Wolf murmurs against his mouth, somewhere between kiss seven and eight, and Genichiro exhales as if Wolf’s asking him the impossible, to try and speak in the midst of this.</p><p>So it is Genichiro who finally pushes Wolf away, wiping the smear of saliva off his lip, looking up at the bridge’s roof for a moment as if it may hold an answer. Wolf tucks whatever amusement he feels away like a very polite knife and waits; though he is thrumming now, he knows he’s better than he was before, less restless. He has only just begun to figure out how to need without someone pointing and saying, <em>that, you need </em>that. He finds himself needful often.</p><p>“Explain,” Genichiro tells him once he’s assumedly no longer reciting Isshin’s teachings to himself.</p><p>“You are a target,” Wolf says plainly. “You need a shinobi.”</p><p>Genichiro looks him head to toe, his narrowed eyes like the edge of a blade. “I have had a shinobi.” </p><p>Wolf is wry: “And how did you find him?” </p><p>Genichiro opens his mouth. Shuts it. He turns on his heel and starts off once more, a set to his shoulders. Wolf trots after him at a distance first, and then closer, trailing his footsteps like a shadow kept at arms’ length.</p><p>The leaves crunch beneath their feet, wind rustling the branches overhead. The air is clear, no longer the heavy smell of insects or corpses rising to the sky from the ruined land. Genichiro is tall and unbending in the crisp mountain wind coming from the peaks, his hair coming apart from its tie piece by piece, no helmet to keep the dark strands from the breeze. Wolf remembers when he had kept his hair down entirely and the storm that came with it.</p><p>There are more homes here, scattered. Empty buildings, rotting from the inside — they mirror the rest of this place. Wolf rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes sharp.</p><p>“I will rejuvenate this place.”</p><p>Wolf darts his gaze from the creaking husks that were once homes to settle his unwavering attention on Genichiro. He says nothing, pausing his steps when Genichiro stops.</p><p>“This mountain and its temple has a history,” Genichiro continues. “A history with Ashina. Are you familiar?”  </p><p>Wolf is familiar if reading scraps of text found in forgotten corners counts as <em>familiar</em>. Already well-used to Wolf’s silent prompts, Genichiro simply continues, unhurried.</p><p>“It is not a history to be forgotten. As well, Ashina needs to continue rebuilding, and it is another obstacle to do so atop scorched earth.” Genichiro sounds solemn and steady; again, he has thought this over many times. “Another attack cannot be ruled out, either. We need a strong defense. We have no such thing at the moment.” </p><p>Wolf remembers the fatigue he’d felt after his first visit here, the strength it had taken to climb this mountain, and he takes a sharper breath as he realizes what Genichiro means to do. Genichiro catches the sound, soft as it may be, and sends a glance towards Wolf. “You see it, then,” Genichiro says.</p><p>“…What of the Inner Sanctum?” Wolf asks. </p><p>“What of it?” Genichiro starts walking again, seemingly more thoughtfully, as he gazes around the mountain’s scenery. “Is it not all the more reason to bring Ashina’s people here? It is easily protected.” </p><p>Wolf thinks of the Divine Child, then follows Genichiro. “Have you talked to her…?”  </p><p>“She has lended her support. No one will be forced to come here.”</p><p>It is a sensible plan. The monks are gone, the temple empty, the buildings fading. The mountain alone will take back the land if people are not here to do it instead. Genichiro seems to want to provide homes as well as history, and while Wolf cares little for history, he understands the need for a roof, for a floor, for a bed. He also understands that, if it came to another invasion, Genichiro would not hesitate to sacrifice his life once more to bring about the slightest chance of success. Wolf would like to avoid that, if only because he does not think they would get so lucky to have another chance again.</p><p>Genichiro has not tried to explain the miraculous return of breath inside his body. Wolf has not asked. After their reunion in that field of silvergrass, dyed red with their blood, it became a topic untouched. Why should Wolf demand an answer Genichiro cannot properly give to him? Why should he question it at all, if things turned out so well in their favor? They have shared their relief with one another in other languages than words, anyway.</p><p>
  <em>You need a shinobi.</em>
</p><p>Genichiro sees Wolf’s thoughts in the stern furrow of his brows before the words ever cross his lips, and the small puff of air that escapes Genichiro is the smallest softening that he’ll allow himself.</p><p>“Of course,” Genichiro says, slow, the words sticky with acquiescence, “none of this will come to fruition if my head is cut from my body and mounted upon an Interior Ministry Agent’s spear.”</p><p>Wolf nods, but he is thinking: Or if you are poisoned during a meal and you spill your innards on the table. Or if you are pierced by a dozen arrows and eaten by carrion. Or if you allow another to become too close to you and their betrayal takes the shape of a knife through your left side, between your ribs. </p><p>Wolf has already dropped to a kneel by the time Genichiro turns around to face him again. The damp mud wets his knee through the cloth. Wolf’s head is bowed, but he feels the heavy consideration of Genichiro’s eyes. And from his lowered gaze, in his very peripheral, he sees the slight shift of Genichiro’s weight, as if taken aback for one moment and only that one moment.</p><p>“You need a shinobi,” Wolf says to the ground, quiet. There’s a leaf beside his foot, yet uncrushed, still whole, as if it has only just fallen from its branch.</p><p>Genichiro needs a shinobi, and Kuro has no need for him.</p><p>There’s a long stretch of silence. Genichiro comes no closer. Wolf does not lift his head. He makes no move to stand. He remains there, kneeling, until the gentle weight of a hand comes down onto his head.</p><p>For a second, in Wolf’s blurred eyes and a distant, faraway dream, Genichiro’s hand feels everything and nothing like Kuro’s had when he’d petting fingers through Wolf’s blood-matted hair. Kuro’s palm and fingers had come away darkened with scarlet, smeared like the rest of him. Wolf blinks; now, Genichiro withdraws his hand and, with a sprint of a glance, Wolf sees that it is still clean.</p><p>“I have a shinobi,” Genichiro says then.</p><p>Lady Butterfly told Wolf a story once, long, long ago, when he was barely more than a child.</p><p>There was a starving dog. This starving dog lived anywhere it liked, and roamed the streets and fields and woods as much as it saw fit. When someone was patient enough to give it a kind word, the dog did not know what it could do with it; a word could not be chewed on, it could not be eaten, so what was the point? When someone was gracious enough to give it a pat, the dog still did not know what to do with it, but its tail might wag, and its ears may perk, thinking, what could be next, what more is there?</p><p>But when someone was smart enough to give the dog a bone, that same someone might even be so clever as to teach the dog to fetch for its food. That same someone might go so far as to train this dog to hunt, to kill, and to earn more and more bones, to be rewarded for a job well done. And that starving dog was not starving so badly anymore.</p><p><em>What could be better for that dog,</em> Lady Butterfly asked him lightly, <em>than such a purpose?</em></p><p>In the end, it isn’t that Wolf trusts his own life with Genichiro, but that he trusts Genichiro at all. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter took forever because I kept revising things!! They were supposed to fuck on the bridge!! They didn't fuck on the bridge!! Forgive meee :pleading:</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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